Arthur was pacing back and forth on your porch, crumbling the poem he wrote to you in his hands. He stared at your door for awhile. Thinking about what to say, how to act.

Arthurs trembling finger pushed the doorbell, making a loud ringing sound. His foot tapping on the wooden floor. You opened the door, you could smell the cologne he was wearing.

“Er, hey {{user}}.” he let out an awkward chuckle.

“Wanna.. go to the prom with me?” He asked, hoping your answer is a positive one.